


Never Again To Yield

by fandomvision



Series: Let the White Flags Burn [2]
Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl has some issues, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Rick doesn't mind, Rick's POV, SPOILERS!season 04, background Beth/OMC, background Maggie/Glenn, background Michonne/Tara, beware the potential for a Donner Party post-Z day!, semi-slow build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-01-20 21:08:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomvision/pseuds/fandomvision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick's world has collapsed. Injured and mentally and emotionally staggering after the fall of the prison his only priority is keeping Carl safe. If not for Michonne - with her unique way of dealing with the world that they now live in and the growing friendship between her and Carl - Rick isn't sure they would have made it this far. Only days from Terminus, Rick can only hope that some of their family made it out of the prison. He's finding that holding on to that hope is getting harder and harder by the minute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: So, I was inspired at some point somehow on my lengthy drives to and from work of late to write a companion fic to "Never Give Up. Never Surrender." This one will be entirely from Rick's point of view, so we'll get to see everything we haven't seen in NGUNS. That's something that bothered me despite how much I love how NGUNS is turning out. Kat-valkyrian and I had talked a bit about a few scenes when I was frustrated by not being able to explain things from Rick's PoV and eventually those discussions led to this. So here we go. I promise that even though this is a retelling of sorts, it's really not. It's basically going to go over scenes that weren't brought out in NGUNS because Daryl wasn't aware of them and things I just didn't cover because it didn't flow in that telling.

They were a day, possibly two, from Terminus. Rick let his head rest back against the wall he was leaning on and licked dry, chapped and cracked lips. It had been a few days since they'd been forced to leave the first secure shelter they'd come upon after…

 

Rick picked his head up and let it drop back against the wall with a dull thud. It was gone. All of it. Everything they had worked for. Every sacrifice they had made. The lives they had lost even before the Governor had come a knockin'. All of it had been for nothing in the end. Judith…

 

Again Rick picked his head up off the wall and let his skull bounce none too gently off the concrete. The burn in his eyes was an acidic thing, drenching the inside of his nose with the same burn that blurred his vision. He sniffled a little, hoping the noise wouldn't wake either of his companions. Carl, thankfully, seemed undisturbed. He was curled up close to Rick's right hip with his back pressed into the same wall Rick was supporting himself with. Michonne lay to Rick's right, half curled on her side and with her back to the wall as well.

 

God, but he was thankful for her. He could barely hold himself together, and Carl, no matter how capable the boy thought he was, still needed a steady, guiding hand. Right now, Rick's hands shook like he was having a seizure both literally and figuratively. His mind was fractured, and his ability to stay conscious was limited even though he genuinely hadn't caught an actual wink of sleep in something like three days. Nothing but small snippets of oblivion since he'd woken from what Carl had believed was a coma. Even keeping track of the days was hard when all he could see in his mind's eye were flashing images of Hershel's head being half-severed from his body, a Walker creeping up on Daryl up the hill, and the Governor's sickly delighted face as he attempted to beat the very life out of Rick's body.

 

After that, the world just seemed to be a senseless blur filled with pain and running and an overwhelming compulsion to have Carl _safe_. It wasn't until sometime within the last day that Rick felt he'd started to regain at least some of his wits. Now, instead of him relying almost entirely on instincts, Rick was finding himself much more able to reason. It wasn't beyond his understanding that he may have suffered some serious level of concussion and that his body had yet to recover from the trauma completely. If it ever would. He wouldn't be holding his breath on a full recovery with the state of his luck in the last week. As if on repeat, those same images flashed through his mind's eye again: Hershel's sad, resigned smile full of forgiveness as if to say "Rick, you did the right thing. I forgive you." Followed by the Governor as he raised his fist for what had to have been the twentieth time, the blow slamming Rick's head to the right. Just passed the bus, he'd seen Daryl duck behind an old set of office cabinets, and had in that brief glimpse caught sight of a Walker shambling up behind him.

 

Rick picked his head up and dropped it back against the wall again.

 

He wasn't a fool. Not completely. Daryl was dead. Hershel was dead. Judith…

 

"Dad."

 

Rick lowered his chin, Carl's soft voice stopping him from letting his head drop back against the wall again by dragging his attention from his own painful thoughts. The scrape of denim and rubber soles on the concrete floor of the small car repair shop they had hunkered down in for the night was loud in the stillness of the dark around them. Rick almost shushed the boy, but Michonne wasn't indicating that she was disturbed, so he simply watched the shape of his son shift about in the shadows. Carl settled back against the wall beside his father once he was sitting up. Rick's old uniform Stetson sat on the floor between Carl's feet now with the change in position.

 

"Everythang okay, Carl?" he murmured and finally dragged his gaze down to his hands where they hung limply over his drawn up knees. His voice sounded like he'd been screaming for days.

 

Carl sighed and rolled his head against the wall until he was mostly looking in Rick's direction. Rick caught the movement at the edge of his field of vision, but didn't turn to try and make eye contact. He doubted he'd be man enough to look his son directly in the eyes for a good long while.

 

"No," Carl mumbled into the dark and folded his arms over his stomach.

 

The silence stretched for several long moments before Rick finally pressed with, "What's wrong?"

 

"You weren't even this bad after Mom died."

 

Rick winced. Lori, and even thinking her name was still like a knife right through his heart, had died too early even for this world because Rick had _failed_ to protect her. Just like he had failed to protect Judith. He'd barely started getting to know his baby girl. Now she was gone. Judith was farther away from him than she would have been even if she had never been born because he'd  _held_  her, kissed her brow and rocked her to sleep, and now he would  _never_  feel that again. She had been _taken_ from him just like her mother.

 

"You were bad," Carl continued after a thoughtful moment. "I mean, you were seein' Mom's ghost everywhere. And c'mon, that's pretty bad. You even believed that she was leadin' you t' somethin' important outside the prison fences. If Daryl hadn't showed up when he did-"

 

Carl fell suddenly silent. Rick must have made some kind of noise to cause Carl's teeth to click like that, and he cursed his inability to reign in his emotions. With his head pounding, and his mind so fragmented that he could barely focus on one thought at a time, he really couldn't even blame himself.

 

"We need to look for the others," Carl murmured after a moment, taking his eyes away from Rick and staring off into the darkness around them. Rick gnawed on his lower lip. "Michonne made it out. We did. Maybe Beth and Maggie and Glenn…and Daryl made it out alright."

 

Rick felt the distressed noise leave his throat this time, and he brought both hands up to press trembling fingertips into his eyes. Daryl was dead. Judith was…

 

"I'm not blind you know," Carl pointed out very unhelpfully. "Or deaf."

 

"You wanna tell me what you're gettin' at, or are you jus' gonna keep pointin' out the obvious?" Rick's leg was shaking, bouncing up and down with nervous, pent up energy. He immediately regretted his words and tone, looking away and wiping hard at his mouth with one very unsteady hand, the gesture useless for wiping away the dry bitterness lingering there. Carl didn't seem put off by Rick's little outburst, and Rick was more than a little thankful that his boy was so incredibly intuitive for his age.

 

"I can't remember a time when Mom wasn't angry at you," Carl said at last. "Even before you got shot. I didn't understand what she meant when she would talk to Kathy down the street or Aunt Jane and say things like 'I don't even know if we're in love any more. Maybe we are. I really don't know.' But looking back on it, the way you were with Shane all the time…I think I see what she meant."

 

"Mind enlightenin' me a _little_ more than that, Carl?" Rick murmured, keeping a check on his temper this time even though his muscles were tense across his shoulders, and his jaw was clenching a little tighter every minute. It was hovering in the back of his splintered mind that this was something he already knew, but that it was never meant for anyone _else_ to know.

 

"I think she thought you were havin' an affair with Shane…or, at least, that you wanted to."

 

Rick's blood went instantly cold, freezing in his veins and locking his muscles up to the point that he couldn't even speak. His eyes felt wide, or at least as wide as they could get considering he could still hardly even see out of the one of them. Not that he would have been seeing anyway with the way his mind exploded with long suppressed thoughts, arguments and concerns. 'Get a beer or two in you,' Lori's ghostly voice hissed at him, and he could just see their old kitchen in the heat of summer, feel the light breeze on his face and neck through the open window. 'And it's like you forget I'm even here! It's all about _Shane_.'

 

Carl seemed oblivious to Rick's sudden distress and added, "Daryl's a much better pick than Shane."

 

"What makes you think…?" If his voice had sounded horrible before, it sounded like he'd been gargling ground glass now.

 

"You call for him in your sleep _all the time_." Carl finally looked away then and let the back of his skull rest against the wall. "You called for him _a lot_ while we were out on the road after we lost the farm. Any time things got tough you'd just glance back and yell for him. Then we aimed to clear the prison, and you started hollering his name even more."

 

Jesus, how long had he actually been out of his mind?! He couldn't remember ever yelling for his former partner after the night he'd put a knife into the man's chest, but Carl wouldn't lie about it. Not now. After everything. "Shane and I were friends for a _long_ …"

 

" _Not_ Shane. Dad. _Daryl_."

 

Rick fell silent and closed his eyes. "Carl…"

 

Really he didn't know what to say. He'd struggled with all of this before the Turn, but once the dead had started to rise it hadn't seemed important in the face of his family's survival. In fact it had completely faded into the back of his thoughts. Sometimes, when he'd catch a glimpse of Shane in just the right moment, before the man had turned into a rabid dog, he'd feel it in his chest. Something that might have been if things had gone down a different path, but even that was overshadowed by the connection that he could just see hanging in the air between Lori and Shane; no matter how much Lori had tried to refute it. It wasn't until Daryl had stepped up that night on the farm and taken over the responsibility of putting Dale out of his misery that Rick had felt those stirrings again. That there was someone out there willing to step up for him, to share his burdens where even Lori had failed him, how could he not?

 

And then everything had gone to shit, and all of Rick went right back into ensuring his – much larger – family's survival. Now Shane and Lori were both gone. Judith was gone and Daryl…

 

He could feel the whine of his breath in his throat, but the noise abruptly ceased when Carl reached out and laid a firm hand on his arm. "I'm sure Daryl's alive, Dad," the boy murmured and shook him a little bit. "Dad?"

 

"Carl," Rick croaked and wiped at his mouth again. "I don't think anyone could have made it outta there. We were lucky t' get out ourselves. How-"

 

"Because he's Daryl," Carl interrupted. "He's probably out there lookin' for us right now."

 

A tentative silence fell between them. Rick just closed his eyes and let his head rest back against the wall again. He was so tired, and there was no way he could sleep. Carl was pretty capable of taking care of himself these days, but the soul-wringing _need_ to watch over his son, the last truly important person in his life, just wouldn't let him lose enough awareness for rest.

 

"At least it isn't someone like Andrea," Carl offered after several long moments ticked by. "She was pretty, but she was kind of a bitch."

 

"Language," Rick croaked before he could really stop himself.

 

Carl completely ignored him.

 

"I'm cool with it…" the boy murmured almost as if he were speaking to himself. "You being in love with Daryl, I mean. I think he loves you too. It's just repressed under all that hillbilly prejudice."

 

"Where in god's name did you learn t' talk like that?" Rick knew he sounded dumbfounded more than unhappy even through the frog in his throat.

 

He could hear the shrug in Carl's words. "Everybody talks like that these days, Dad. Even the little old ladies from Woodbury."

 

"I must have had my head buried _real_ deep in the sand then…" Rick mumbled, and Carl laughed softly, leaning into Rick's shoulder. Rick grinned a bit, but refrained from laughing. His ribs were less sore than they'd been, but they were still pretty tender. He was grateful that heavy bruising was the most of his concerns aside from whatever had caused him to go comatose while they'd stayed in that house. The bullet wound in his leg was surprisingly minor.

 

After several long moments, Carl spoke again. This time, though, his tone was less uppity. It was instead softly serious, like he really hoped that his father was going to hear him and not just listen. "When we find Daryl, you should tell him. Even if you don't tell him the whole truth about your feelings, you should at least tell him you love him. I think he needs that too."

 

Rick mulled that over for a moment and then leaned into Carl's shoulder more, pressing into the rail thin body beside him. When he tipped his head, he was just able to rest it against the top of Carl's unruly mop of hair. "Okay."

 

"You'd better."

 

"I will."

 

"Good."

 

Rick let the silence settle between them for just a second before he added, "You need a hair cut."

 

"You're one t' talk," Carl chuckled. Rick grinned. Neither of them moved for the rest of the night.

 

 

TBC…


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay, so I want to give credit where credit is due as always, but I really can't remember if it was ampkiss, taurminian or someone else on Tumblr that put the idea in my head of Rick looking at men before falling into the coma and that being the reason Lori was always so upset. At any rate, it's sort of my headcanon now. I hope that's okay that I assimilated it into my writing.

They pressed on early the next morning. It was entirely possible that the men that had invaded their safe house were headed in the same direction as Rick's group, and they had seemed unsavory at best. Rick wanted to avoid them completely if at all possible. They were hardly able to handle more than a few Walkers right now, let alone a gang of thugs. On top of Rick's concerns over potentially being followed, their pace was slower than Rick would have liked. With the bullet wound in his leg and the serious damage done to his side, he just couldn't make himself move faster than he was. Not without an adrenaline jolt. Certainly, he was much better than he'd been four or so days ago, but it was frustrating being so laid up that he was all but useless. At least his mind was feeling clearer today. So, the three of them pressed on, slow and easy, and sticking hard to the tracks. Until they reached the end of the line.

 

Eventually, the woods just ended, and as one, they warily stepped out of the cover of the forest and into a mostly empty train yard. To their right was a tall chain-link fence that stretched from the train garage they could see a ways down the yard yet to the first curve of the tracks. To their left was a sloping hill that rose up from the yard and was topped with the same type of fence. Beyond the hill they could see tall-grass fields, the end of a road and a building that looked to be some type of warehouse. Three of the fence panels were down at the top of the hill, but other than that small indication of disorder, the few box cars remaining and the surrounding area seemed empty and quiet, undisturbed really.

 

As one they stopped and looked around.

 

"It would be a bad decision to walk into that dark garage," Michonne murmured, her eyes locked on the open doors and pitch black interior of the train garage that all of the tracks ran into.

 

"I agree," Rick whispered back and surveyed the hill for a few brief moments before moving in that direction. It was the best option available to them at the moment. "We go up. I want a better look at the city."

 

Michonne and Carl followed. If his son hovered closer to him than might have been necessary otherwise, Rick opted not to mention it. It was nice knowing his competent boy had his back. The climb up the modest incline was a little reminiscent of that first hill he'd forced himself up barefoot, aching and disoriented after he'd stumbled from the hospital yard what seemed like an entire lifetime ago. He hunched forward, sore enough to be entirely unable to climb in any semblance of an upright position, but his body was better trained now and he didn't need to crawl.

 

Once at the top of the hill, they picked their way over the springy resistance of the downed fence and stepped up into a small alleyway between the fence and the warehouse. Without a word the three of them moved as one to press against the wall, stalking along it to the mouth of the alley. Michonne took point and peeked around only to gesture for them to follow her a second later. As a unit they made their way around onto the street and edged along that side of the building until Michonne could once again peer around the corner. After a long moment, Michonne finally motioned them around and stepped forward.

 

Rick felt his heart sink as the street beyond the warehouse came into view. Walkers stumbled about everywhere. Either they needed to find another way around, or they were going to have to make a slow and careful trip through the city itself. He'd learned firsthand in Atlanta that massive congregations of Walkers could be idly lurking around any turn down there. Rick turned and walked away. He stalked out into the middle of the intersection behind them, and gingerly raised his hands so that he could run them through his greasy hair. He couldn't fight the wince raising his arms brought, but the small twinge of pain cleared his head a little.

 

"Is there a way around?" he asked Carl and Michonne, turning around to look at each of them in turn. "Can we go around an' not have t' deal with Them?"

 

Carl and Michonne exchanged a look Rick couldn't read, and once again, Rick found himself grateful that Carl had at least _someone_ worthwhile to confide in. When they looked back at him, their twin expressions said it all. They were going to have to go through the city.

 

Swamped with anxiety, Rick whirled and paced. Every step made his sore ribs _ache_ , but he was desperate for inspiration. Carl and Michonne watched him for a little while before Michonne stepped forward, reaching out and laying a hand on Rick's arm. He jumped despite having seen her move out of the corner of his eye and winced with a hiss when the pain in his side flared.

 

"Not tonight," she murmured and glanced to the west. "Let's go back down to those boxcars and get some rest. Carl will stay with you, and I'll go see if I can find some food in the store right there."

 

Rick's eyes followed her other arm as it swung back to point at the grocery store two doors down from the first store on their left. "You shouldn't go off by yourself," Rick rasped and the protest fell short even to his own ears. The corner of Michonne's mouth pulled up, and she gave him a look that was clearly not impressed.

 

"He needs to stay with his father. You need him more than I do right now. If something happens, you're in no fit state to defend yourself."

 

She looked at Carl, and, after a moment, Rick did too. Carl tipped his head, looking up at them from beneath the brim of his hat. "Dad, you look really pale," Carl pointed out, his face going from thoughtful to concerned in the span of a heartbeat.

 

Michonne's eyes snapped over to Rick again, and it was in turning his head to look at her that the vertigo, something he'd felt swim through his consciousness a time or two since leaving their safe house, found the opportunity to take over. Rick felt his stomach churn, and his knees wobbled. His mouth started watering as the world tipped and tilted, the nausea settling heavily in his gut and clouding his mind. Apparently, his body had decided he’d pushed himself a little too hard, after spending days unconscious. The ground rocked up to meet him, and he felt the impact of it as though from a great distance. Carl's voice calling out to him sounded distant and muffled. His vision blurred and blackness edged in, the last thing he saw was his son's frantically worried face dropping down over him and then there was nothing.

 

When Rick came back to himself, swimming up out of the inky depths of his deepest subconscious like a whale surfacing for air, he jolted awake and gasped. Carl's hands pushed hard on his shoulders, Rick slumping back as soon as Carl's shadowed face came into view. "It's okay, Dad! Michonne helped me get you t' a boxcar. We're safe."

 

Panting, Rick nodded, finally letting his head drop lightly back onto the floor of the boxcar. He swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut as the ceiling spun. It was more than likely that the largest part of his problem lay in a dip in his blood sugar. His body was expending a lot of energy trying to repair itself and had received next to nothing to replenish what it had used in its efforts.

 

A soft series of knocks had Carl scrambling away, Rick tracking the boy's movement and then those of the newcomer – Michonne by the cadence of the voice speaking in a hushed tone to Carl after the boxcar door was closed – by sound alone. Weak and heavy-limbed, Rick draped the crock of his elbow over his eyes and swallowed hard again. The nausea was getting a little better, but he was still incredibly uncomfortable.

 

"Hey," Michonne whispered once she's shuffled her way over to his side. Rick twitched in an automatic reaction, but couldn't bring himself to actually respond to her. Michonne's gentle hand on his shoulder got much the same reaction only this time he allowed a soft grunt to leave him. "I brought a bag of things back. I grabbed some crackers for you to start with."

 

After a long pause, Rick murmured a raspy, "Thank you."

 

"You should at least drink this water," Michonne insisted. And the crack of a fresh bottle of water's seal giving to deft fingers pulled him out of his daze. Stiffly, Rick allowed his arm to slide back down. Then he pushed himself over onto his side and then slowly worked his way into a sitting position. Michonne handed him the opened water, and Rick eagerly took a few small sips.

 

The last few hours of daylight were spent slowly consuming all of the edible food stuffs Michonne had been able to get her hands on. She reported dispatching no less than five Walkers on her little foray to the grocery store. Michonne had also told them that she had been able to get the drop on those Walkers easily as they'd been fairly dormant at the time, and that she had disposed of most of them executioner style because of it. By the time she'd gotten a few good laughs from Carl and a soft chuckle out of Rick with her quiet but goofy reenactments of her "harrowing" adventure, Rick was feeling significantly better. Of course, now he had something in his stomach, and Michonne's  report was nothing but good news. Between feeling less nauseated and the dormancy of the city's Walkers, the next day was certainly looking up.

 

 

TBC…


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I know these chapters are shorter than NGUNS', but I like the places I'm ending one chapter and beginning another so I'mma keep going like this. ^___^

They got an early start the next morning. Rick felt steadier on his feet, but was still too weak to move them along any faster than they were already going. He didn't argue when Michonne took point, and Carl, gun drawn, took up a position behind him. He hated that he was the weakest link, but it couldn't be helped, so he resigned himself to pressing on as they were. They had discussed at length how they would proceed before they had gone to sleep the night before, so there was no hesitation. Once Michonne signaled that the coast was clear, Carl jumped out of the boxcar and turned to help Rick ease his feet to the ground. Then they were making their way up the hill and over the downed fence. Michonne once again stepped forward along the wall, peering around the corner and clearing it, motioning him and Carl along behind her as she crept along the next wall and peered around.

 

After several long moments of studying the scene around the edge of the wall, Michonne turned back to them. "The Walkers are mostly sitting along the main road. Very few Wanderers."

 

"It's the alleys and side streets we're worried about," Rick murmured. He could remember, as clearly as if it had just happened a few days ago, his disastrous ride into Atlanta. He would be absolutely _damned_ if he were going to repeat that foolish mistake. It was nice to be at least a little clearer headed, even if he wasn't one-hundred percent on his game yet.

 

"So, we move around like we talked about last night," Carl urged, glancing around vigilantly. "We stay low. We stay together. We sneak through, and when we have to, we dispatch'em quietly. Right?"

 

Rick couldn't help laying a proud hand on his boy's shoulder and squeezing the thin muscling there. "Yeah," he murmured and then looked back to Michonne with a short nod. "Let's go."

 

They were completely out of options. Surviving the winter out here, exposed to the elements and vulnerable to whoever or whatever came across them, just wasn't going to happen. Not if Rick could help it. So, here they were, taking risks they had no choice but to take. It churned his stomach how far things had fallen in so short a time.

 

Needless to say, it was slow going. Rick was reminded briefly of his Academy training days, where clearing rooms in training facilities had taken hours as everyone had traded positions, responsibilities and offered critique and praise at the end of each drill. It made him itch to be up front, to see what was coming first, a position he'd always felt most comfortable in even way back then. Not that Michonne couldn't handle it because he knew she could. She was doing an excellent job of silently asking them to halt before she stopped herself and with the same consistent hand signal each time. She really would have made an excellent police woman back before the Turn. He just couldn't shake the overwhelming urge, the _need_ , to be the man in charge, to carry the burden of decision, to be the buffer between the people he loves and the certain death before them.

 

So, at every building corner they stopped, waiting in tense silence for Michonne's 'come along' signal. They stayed low and quiet, crouching so that they could hurry past idle herds down side streets undetected. It was interesting to see that this was a pattern the undead held to, congregating in tight places and going dormant, as though they were content to wait for unsuspecting fools as Rick had once been to stumble upon them. It didn't matter if they really understood the Walkers, they just needed to do everything they could to avoid having to deal with them at all.

 

Michonne's hand came up as they neared another alley, and Rick reached back, giving Carl the same signal. Michonne crept the last two feet to the edge. As always her hands were on her katana and sheath. She took a moment to breathe in and steel herself for whatever she might find around this corner just like she had at all the others. Then Rick watched as her back flexed, Michonne starting to lean forward to peer around the bricks. The Walker that popped around the corner seemed almost as startled – if Walkers experienced anything of that nature – to see her as she was to see it. Rick was proud of the three of them when no one made a single sound. Michonne backpedaled quick as a cat and in moments the thing was dropping to the ground, its head cleaved in half at an angle that was damn near artistic. Rick's eyes darted around the open street, but the Walkers on the other side of the road were only just now taking notice. Barely at that, as if the fugue that had fallen over them were was still clinging like cobwebs over whatever passed for their consciousness. He reached out and put a hand to the small of Michonne's back. She glanced back and he tipped his head toward the opposite side of the street. She nodded once and then the three of them were moving at a crouched run. They needed cover to give things a chance to go stagnant again.

 

The stops at alley mouths and street corners were shorter now, Michonne hurrying them along and glancing behind them frequently. Rick didn't need to look to know that the Walkers from across the street were waking up and moving up behind them. Michonne lead them into the third alley they came to, with only a quick glance round the bend to ensure it was at least mostly clear. She killed the only three Walkers there while Rick surged forward to reach for the fire escape ladder. A deep twinge from his ribs had him near doubling over. Carl darted forward and Rick lifted his head just enough to watch as his son jumped, fingers barely catching on the lowest rung. His weight was thankfully enough to bring the ladder down. Carl's hand reaching for him jolted Rick back into motion. No one said a word until they were safely on a landing three floors up.

 

"How are your ribs?" Michonne asked as Rick lowered himself to the grate they all stood on and leaned back against the building. Her eyes were intense.

 

"I'm fine," he assured her and blew out a huge sigh. "Just moved too fast back there."

 

"Mmhmm," Michonne hummed not looking the least bit convinced. She and Carl exchanged one of their looks. Rick chose to ignore them.

 

"Well, I'm fine enough. Let's see if we can get in through the window. Maybe there'll be somethang t' eat in there."

 

Carl sighed and moved close the window peering in. After a few minutes of looking around, he tapped on the window. When nothing happened, he and Michonne set about trying to get the window open. In the end they broke the glass and cleared the frame of shards before sliding in one by one. Michonne went first, creeping forward like a stalking panther. Carl followed right after her, gun drawn and ready. Rick grunted as he folded his taller frame through the window. It seemed the coast was clear.

 

The air was stale. There was thick layer of dust over every surface and it appeared as if the place had been abandoned long before things reached their peak. This city seemed awfully packed with Walkers. It stood to reason that this was a waypoint in the evacuation process, but perhaps these folks – whoever had lived here – had been some of the lucky few to get away from this place before things went completely to hell. Michonne was already moving toward the bedrooms to completely secure the place. Rick eased himself down onto the sofa, ignoring the little cloud of dust that kicked up as he dropped the last few inches to the cushions. Carl moved up to stand in front of him, staring him down.

 

"What do we do if Terminus is a bust?"

 

Rick licked busted lips and looked up through the few unruly curls that had fallen across his forehead. "We come back here. Hole up for a bit. Figure it out from there."

 

"You always have an answer. How do you know it's the right one?" Carl's facial expression hadn't changed from the moment he'd started this staring contest.

 

"I don't, Carl, but we can't jus' lay down an' die. So, we do somethang. _Anythang_."

 

"Life is a struggle," Michonne intoned behind him. Carl's eyes flew up to watch her approach over Rick's head. "And you should fight every day. You should never stop fighting, until there's no fight left, and then you fight some more."

 

Carl studied her for a few long moments, and then looked back down to Rick. Rick only nodded. Michonne had hit the nail on the head. Carl nodded back and then stepped around the couch. "I'm gonna check the cupboards."

 

"Don't open the fridge," Rick warned, his tone a gentle reminder.

 

"Hell no! I'm not an idiot, Dad," Carl threw back over his shoulder, and Rick felt the corner of his mouth kick up as he laid his head back against the cushions.

 

They had canned fruits and vegetables for lunch that afternoon. There had even been a few cans of ravioli. One for each of them. It was probably the best thing they'd all eaten since the last good day at the prison. The fact that that last good meal had been a buck that Daryl had brought in strapped to the hood of the car he and a few of the others had taken out for a supply run crowded into his mind, and a cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach. Slowly, he lowered the pear half in his fingers back into the bowl as his stomach tightened with anxiety. How the hell was he going to push on without that steadying presence beside him? He felt unhinged, adrift and damn near lost even just sitting there. Every step of the journey to Terminus so far had been plagued by an underlying sense of hopelessness. Despite Michonne's words from just a few hours ago, Rick wondered if he'd be able to continue to set a good example for his son and fight on even without Lori or Shane or Daryl by his side. In a very melodramatic moment in the privacy of his own mind, Rick had occasionally wondered if he were in some way cursed. Every person he'd ever given a piece of his heart to, excluding Carl, was dead. Even little Judith, who had been his even if she hadn't been. And how long would it be until Carl joined them?

 

It wasn't a thought he wanted to dwell on. Blue eyes met Carl's over the table they were sitting at for the briefest of moments before he picked the pear half back up and took a bite. After a moment, Carl dropped his gaze and started eating again as well.

 

A little bit of his resolve seemed to creep back in as he watched his son calmly eating in that dingy little apartment kitchen. _Could_ he fight on? How the hell could he even ask himself that? He still had Carl, and there was _nothing_ he wouldn't do to protect his beloved son.

 

 

TBC…


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: So, I've been going back in NGUNS and re-editing it all since I've been away from the earlier chapters long enough now that my mind isn't filling in the blanks as it were. Also, this is a good way for me to mold this story over that story. Hopefully, this plan works out, but that is why I haven't done much actual writing in the last few days…aside from being inundated with work stuff.

It had taken them the rest of the day to get even a little closer to the edge of the city that Terminus was on. Honestly, if Rick had to guess, they were likely only half way through. Like they had at mid-day, the three of them found an empty apartment above-ground-level to settle in and spent the night. Most of what was slowing them down was the sheer volume of Walkers congregated in the city which of course meant they had to move cautiously. The city was by no means as large as Atlanta, but it was large enough that even if the world had been right, and death wasn't snapping at them from around every corner, it still would have taken a good portion of a whole day to get to the other end of the city.

 

Rick couldn't believe how strange this city was. It was definitely unique in that it started at the top of a hill, its main street curving and winding down into a basin and then twisting its way back up another hill. Terminus sat atop that other hill, which was the only reason they could see it from the far end of the city. The main street was laid out like the body of a snake, almost as if the lay of the land had forced the city to weave its way along as it grew.

 

' _Or maybe they were all drunk. Fuckin' hillbillies ain't sober much_ ,' the memory of Daryl's voice whispered into the back of Rick's mind from a happier time. It would have been a lighthearted comment quietly directed to Rick's ears only. Daryl wasn't one to show his more comedic side to just anyone, and Rick had always felt privileged that the hunter had made it a point to share his strange little bits of redneck humor with him on the sly, muttering little comments like that as he brushed past the former deputy on runs and hunts. It made Rick's heart hurt to think he'd never hear those private little jokes again.

 

Reining in his runaway focus, Rick turned his mind away from thoughts of Daryl and their former life. Thinking about what must lay in wait down any of the side streets between the small business buildings should be his focus now. His attention back to Michonne, who was still peering around a corner and assessing the side street, where it should have been all along.

 

When Michonne finally turned to look at them, Carl leaned around Rick to meet her thoughtful gaze. "We should have a better backup plan," Michonne murmured, and Rick glanced back at Carl. Carl looked interested and attentive. Not for the first time, Rick thanked the day he was blessed with such an amazing son. It was clear that they were all well aware that coming back through the city wasn't a very good idea. Their luck was holding so far, but he really doubted that they'd be so lucky passing back through. The odds were against a safe return trip for certain. The Walkers were already seemed more alert as they continued on their way through this time as it was.

 

"In case…" Rick inhaled sharply, pressing a hand into his side and folding himself forward a little when his ribs twinged. He had tried to stand up too straight. "Terminus doesn't work out an' we have t' get back t' the other side o' the city. I agree."

 

 "Dad?"

 

"I'm fine…Carl. Just… let's keep movin'. We can work it out as we go."

 

Carl dipped his chin just a little and adjusted his grip on his pistol. The movement reminded him briefly of Shane letting off nerves right before a bust. It made his stomach turn a little and he looked up to Michonne to clear the image from his mind. She motioned them after her a second later. As they crossed the mouth of the side street, Rick glanced down the road. It was obvious what had given Michonne such pause and sparked the concern for a backup plan when he took in the military station and its mix of military Walkers and civilian Walkers half-stepping and shuffling around the sandbag blockades and low fences. It flashed his mind back briefly to that tank he'd spent a little time in on that street in Atlanta and he turned his eyes away just as they came up along the building on the other side of the street.

 

They talked in quiet murmurs, falling silent within a foot of each corner. So far, they'd been lucky. The Walkers here were dormant enough without living stimulation readily available that they hardly stirred when the three of them slipped past. Once or twice, Rick or Michonne had skewered the skull of a resting Walker that was seated along the buildings as they moved down the sidewalk. The kills were always swift, and they always moved along without hardly a pause, hoping not to have a repeat of the previous day from the Walkers across the main street. Sadly, even as they neared the edge of the city, they had yet to come up with any kind of working backup plan. There were too many variables and unknowns to account for much of anything. Rick just prayed to whatever powers that were that Terminus would be all that it had promised, and that they wouldn't have to worry about it.

 

He should have known better.

 

It was an uncomfortable length of time after they'd left the city behind in which they had to follow a leaf dusted stretch of paved road through bright and sunny woods. Rick felt exposed and vulnerable, and it was obvious that Carl and Michonne were equally discomfited by the lack of cover provided by a thinly wooded roadside. It was also uncomfortably bright out when they'd gotten used to the usual dreary skies of fall in Georgia post-Turn. The forest was annoyingly deceptive, nature being so suddenly sunny and cheerful without a Walker in sight, but something out there was putting Rick's hackles up. It put Rick on edge for reasons he couldn't entirely explain, but was assured in knowing that Michonne and Carl felt the same.

 

"It's like…we're going back in time or somethin'," Carl said a few miles down the road when it was presumably safe to speak at a normal volume without Walkers around. Rick looked around and nodded.

 

"There aren't bodies or anything," Michonne pointed out. "With as many Walkers as there are in the city, you would think that a road leading into a civilized area would be littered with corpses."

 

Rick took another look around, pausing when he thought he saw movement out amongst the trees to their right. His companions stared equally hard for a few minutes before Michonne gently touched his shoulder. "We need to keep moving. It's got to be getting close to evening."

 

Nodding, Rick dragged his eyes away from the spot he'd been watching and the three of them pressed on. Following a bend in the road, they came into view of the first gates and Rick immediately took them off the main road, but to the left, still wary of whatever had caught his eye on the right. It was best if they got themselves a good look around, a little bit of an assessment of their potential enemy, before getting in any deeper than they were. If Terminus wasn't everything it claimed…

 

Rick shook his head, clearing his mind of thoughts he'd been over a million times, if he'd been over them once, on this trip. It wouldn't do them any good to put himself ahead of whatever was going to come. He'd end up dead on unfounded predictions, and so might his son and the woman he'd come to see as a sister. As silently as the leaves allowed, they moved along the fence as it wound its way through the trees. Without maintenance crews to tend the nearly eight foot tall fence there were leafy vines overgrowing the diamond patterned metal mesh, conveniently blocking them from view from the ground but unfortunately preventing them from getting a good look at the roof tops. If nothing else, he was able to look for guards in the trees unhindered.

 

A sudden commotion up ahead, had the three of them moving with silent swiftness away from the fence and into the trees. Rick took a good look around above them and then they hunkered down. Quite a ways down the fence, a gate swung open to allow an armed man to step out into the forest. A moment later he was followed by a line of people in two rows. There were ten that marched out of the gate, followed by a pair of armed guards. The first man through shut the gate and the procession moved along. Rick and Michonne exchanged a quick look before Rick turned worried eyes to Carl. They couldn't separate. It was too risky. So, with a silent nod in the direction the group of guards and apparent captives were heading, Rick pushed himself up into a low crouch and moved silently after them. It was painful, but he managed. What other choice did he really have? Thankfully, Michonne and Carl were near silent as they moved along behind him. Rick was glad for the time they'd all spent out on the road without safety. It had made them tough and silent survivors.

 

Eventually, the group before them stopped. Rick crouched low by a large tree and glanced about him as Michonne and Carl did the same, staying close to the ground and as hidden as possible. Certain of their positioning and that they were indeed as hidden as they could get, Rick turned his attention back to the group they'd followed.

 

"…doesn't care. Beggin' fer yer lives ain't gonna work." The man's drawl was thick and mountainy, and for one moment Rick felt his heart skip with dread. That rasp and the southern redneck drawl sounded so damn familiar that he had to stop himself from lurching to his feet. The only thing that stopped him from doing so was the scrape of rough bark under his palm and the twinge in his side. The rest of his mind caught up with him just in time thanks to the pain of his battered body reminding him of just why they were where they were. The man doing the talking was too tall, too broad, and full of way too much swagger to be the Daryl that had stayed by Rick's side, proving that Rick's faith in him as a good man despite his upbringing was well-founded. His Daryl wouldn't be party to this…execution.

 

"Y'all ain't worth the bullets some o' them soft-hearted types think we're puttin' in ya," the first man through the gate added. He was a weasely sort and Rick had taken an instant dislike to him that was only fortified by his almost high-pitched voice and obvious glee in whatever was about to happen.

 

Rick glanced back to the group of captives, taking them in individually for the first time. Two of the captives were middle-aged men who looked not unlike himself, beat down, stripped of nearly everything and yet still determined to survive. Two of them were young boys not too far in age from his own son. The remaining six of the ten were men and women who were old; wizened and wrinkled with years and experience. What skills and resources these people might hold, Rick would probably never know, but he was aware that what was happening in front of him was wrong even if they'd been useless as survivors. He had long ago come to terms with not being able to save them all, to the limits of what could be provided to a given number of people who were contributing nothing to the group…but this was still _wrong_.

 

It was so obviously wrong given that this Terminuas was as stable and well-guarded a place as the prison had been. It offered resources like the woods, wild game and land for farming! Rick couldn't imagine a justification for putting people in front of a firing squad like this. Hell, he had _taken in_ his enemy's abandoned people! What the hell was the leader of this place thinking? Rick could understand sending strays on their way after building them up into survival ready individuals. He would have been likely to eventually do so himself since some of the Woodbury people had begun to show discontent with the way things were done at the prison. He understood taking care of your own first and only helping those you could help safely, but this was clearly something more nefarious than sending folks on their way with all this talk of bullets and begging.

 

One old man raised his chin as Rick assessed the situation and looked the weasely man right in the face. "You won't hear me beg, you little shit. There's a special place in hell reserved for the likes of you boys and Negan, and I'll be there waiting for you. Believe you me."

 

The two young boys started to cry, clinging to each other. Their resemblance was unmistakable. Rick felt his chest tighten. He glanced to his right at Carl and felt his stomach drop. Carl's hands trembled where they gripped tightly to his pistol, but it was the way his whole body shivered that made Rick swallow hard. Months ago, he might have mistaken that quivering in his son's body for fear. After the collapse of the prison fences and after the Governor's attack, Rick knew now that it was a readiness for action that gave his son that coltishly eager tremor. Terrified that Carl would foolishly take action, Rick hissed at him, a wordless sound that snapped his boy's attention back to him. Carl's eyes were wide beneath the brim of his hat, and Rick met them with as much empathy as he could, slowly shaking his head back and forth.

 

Carl's lips thinned. He lowered his chin, concealing his expression and therefore his thoughts from Rick's eyes with the brim of the hat. After several long tense minutes in which Rick heard and saw nothing but the boy near to his side, Carl finally clicked his pistol to safe and holstered the weapon with a fierce shove.

 

It was time to go before whatever was happening in front of them escalated into something they couldn't ignore. Michonne nodded when he glanced her way and then he turned back to Carl, but the boy kept his chin lowered still obscuring his view of his father with the brim of his hat. Rick reached out to touch Carl's shoulder, felt the world tip as he overbalanced beyond his ability to recover with his ribs, and bit off a curse as he crashed hard to the ground.

 

 

TBC…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Whew! This chapter was one big, run-on flow of thought through fingers to page. It was a crazy ride to the end of the chapter for me! I hope you all get the same enjoyment out of this that I did. ^___^

Even as the world had only just begun to tip, Michonne's hands were grabbing at him. Rick had a split second to wonder at how very quick Michonne's reflexes were before the taste of dirt became a powerfully awful distraction as it cluttered into his mouth. He could hardly breathe for the pain, having landed on his worst side. Rick had even flailed like a fool on the way down, crashing into the ground despite his desperate attempts to flex and wobble to right himself through the stiffness and pain. Every attempt to correct his plunge to the forest floor from where he had been kneeling was like a punch to his side. He should have just let himself go down instead of resisting. He probably wouldn't have ended up so winded. Carl's hands were on him then, and all thoughts of how foolish he had been fled as together the pair of them got him up. Rick's feet hit the ground and, knowing that they really needed to run, Rick clumsily planted one foot in front of the other. If not for Carl and Michonne, Rick would have been a dead man. The shouts of the armed men behind them only emphasized that simple truth, but with their aid, Rick found that he was a little more able to keep up with them. He still slowed them down, but not like he had been before moving on his own.

 

More shouts came from behind them. Rick knew better, even dazed, than to look behind them, but he could guess that at least two of the armed men were in pursuit. They burst out of the forest and onto the main road, turning back toward the city. A burst of gunfire from behind had Rick shifting his weight and urging them back into the woods on the other side of the road. The trees would provide some cover both from the gunfire and the Walkers that the noise would inevitably bring. As they crashed through the very sparse underbrush, Rick caught movement of out the corner of his left eye and turned his head. His line of sight ran beneath Michonne's chin, and the world around them seemed to slow as horror overtook him. A pile of human bodies, stacked and strewn about the forest floor like forgotten dolls, lay close to their left. In fact, they were now hopping and stepping over corpses as they hurried along. As his focus shifted from slowly dawning horror to deep and disparaging terror, he realized that not all of the corpses were unmoving.

 

"They're everywhere," Carl hissed suddenly and threw his slim weight into his father's side. Rick hissed a curse, but the action moved both Rick and Michonne further left with barely a stumble and effectively dodged a trundling, reaching Walker that had clearly come to feed.

 

"We need to get out of here!" Michonne snapped, tense and struggling under Rick's weight. What was wrong with him? He was going to get them all killed if he didn't pull it together! Taking as much of a deep breath as he could manage, Rick reined his reeling mind in and pulled away while still moving forward with them, taking his own weight.

 

"We just need t' get back t' the city," he growled and gestured with a snap of his hand in the direction the city had to be.

 

Michonne, free of Rick, pulled her katana and cut down two Walkers directly before them. They were making better progress now. Rick couldn't hear anyone following them anymore, but it wasn't worth the chance to lose ground just to find out. It was several lung-burning minutes before they broke the cover of the trees and tumbled headlong into a deep ditch. Clearly, it was just a catch for the runoff of rainwater, so thankfully, without any rain in the last few weeks, it was dry as a bone. Rick lay gasping on his back for just a moment before he forced himself to roll to his side. Carl was there immediately to help him up, while Michonne was already on her way up the other side. She turned halfway up the incline, and with the help of both her and Carl, he made it up onto level ground again.

 

Thankfully there was no fence surrounding this side of the city, and they ducked into the first alley they saw, slowing up and moving deeper into the city with greater caution than they'd exhibited in the woods. The growls and hisses of the Walkers that had tailed them out of the woods were audible just behind them. It would be a minute before the uncoordinated masses were able to stumble up the other side of the ditch, but it would be prudent of them to get their asses in gear and find a place to lay low.

 

Michonne's round-the-corner checks were quick and harried, knowing that both the living-dead and the living were not too far behind them. It was that urgency that made them clumsy, and after a moment or two into their flight Rick stumbled hard into the back of Michonne, completely missing her 'hold up' gesture. His weight and awkwardness sent her stumbling into the side street. Carl came around the corner before Rick's faux pas had registered and stopped just behind them. A whole herd was already turning to face them, staggering forward with outstretched arms.

 

"Run!" Michonne barked, and the three of them spun. There was no going back the way they'd come as the alleyway was clogged with the Walkers that had followed them out of the woods. The only way that they could go was further down the other half of the side street. Rick's energy was waning, his ability to breathe hindered by his body's refusal to take a deep breath. He stumbled. Carl was there immediately, pulling Rick's arm over his shoulders and steadying him with an arm around his waist as they hurried on. Rick glanced at his boy, but Carl was too busy staring straight ahead or checking their blind spots to pay the look of adoration and gratitude his father gave him any mind.

 

The herd behind them was growing and the commotion from all of it was starting to draw more and more Walkers into their path. They were running out of options. Something that came to a head very quickly when they rounded the next corner and found themselves trapped. Boxed in at every turn by lines upon lines of shambling, hungry corpses. A small terrified noise escaped Carl's throat and the arm around Rick's waist tightened as the Walkers began to close in.

 

"Dad," Carl whimpered and looked up. Rick brought his eyes down to his son from where he'd been desperately searching for a way through the growing herd of Walkers. It was a futile effort, but he couldn't stop himself from trying.

 

"Carl…" he murmured, feeling empty and hopeless and absolutely useless. He'd failed at the _only_ thing that mattered. Carl was going to die at the incredibly _young_ age of fourteen, and it was all _his_ fault. Lori was probably so disappointed in him right now. She was never going to forgive him for this. Eyes burning he tipped his head back, trying to stem the flow of tears as he pulled Carl into a tight hug. Slender arms wrapped tight around Rick's waist as his son buried his face into his father's sternum. "I'm so sorry, Carl. I tried so hard. I just couldn't-"

 

Michonne, sword held at the ready backed into him, pressing the length of her back against the curve of Rick's spine. The contact brought his chin back down with a start, and his eyes passed over a door in the brick wall beside them on their way from the sky to the brim of Carl's hat.

 

"The door!" he all but screamed. Michonne spun and zeroed in on the entryway in question. Rick and Carl moved toward the door with a sudden synchronicity born of desperation. Together they shouldered into it. It groaned. The frame looked old and rusted. Weak. "Again!" Rick ordered, glad that they had some space, and that the Walkers were tripping over each other more than anything, but it wouldn't be long before they'd be on them. The second hit took his breath away, but the door groaned again, giving under their combined effort. Michonne killed three Walkers that had broken away from the pack and then spun, leaning in over Carl's head where the boy was angled low, really trying to put his full weight into an all-out steady push. Rick staggered back and then threw himself forward.

 

The door gave with the groaning screech of metal.

 

As one the three of them staggered into the pitch black of the enclosed building's interior. Michonne and Carl were already forcing the stiff and barely mobile door closed behind them. It would take a lot of coordinated effort to get it open again. Already Rick could hear the Walkers on the other side, clawing at the door and wall and moaning in frustration. It was eerie especially since there was no light inside the building. Rick had already taken two steps back from the closing door when his elbow had bumped into the railing of a stairwell which confirmed what he'd barely glimpsed while the light had poured through the door. Cautiously, Rick took a step to his left, moving away from the stairs that he could sense as a void at his back.

 

There was a sudden sound like the wooden cracking of arthritic knuckles followed by the gasping hiss of a reawakened Walker. It was his only warning before there was a surprisingly powerful pair of hands grabbing at his ankles. Caught off guard and without much in the way of balance with the mind-numbing pain in his side, Rick flailed, cussed and felt himself tumble backwards into empty space.

 

 

 

TBC…


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: A ginormous thank you needs to go out to theladysarmor on Tumblr for hardcore beta'ing these chapters! And I'm still deeply grateful to kat-valkyrian and akaitsume for hearing me out all the time on plot points and helping me check things over for flow and flaws. You guys make my life so much easier/better/amazing!

"DAD!"

 

Carl's scream echoed around him in the empty stairwell, but if the boy made any more noise, Rick wasn't able to hear it. Desperate to protect itself, his body had automatically twisted, wrenching his sore and aching frame around. It was no small blessing that he hit the stairs on his better shoulder. It allowed him to tuck in on himself a bit and more slide down the stairs than roll down them. While it probably hurt just as much as a true tumble, it had probably saved him from breaking his neck. He came to a stop stretched across the floor and the last two steps. Then he just lay there, gasping in a futile attempt to regain his breath. The thud of Carl's feet on the stairs were hurried and loud. Rick desperately wanted to tell the boy to slow down before he took the same plunge, but he couldn't hardly breathe let alone form a coherent word.

 

Carl hit his knees beside Rick's head, and Rick heard him now, murmuring over and over, "Dad! C'mon, talk to me. Dad, please!"

 

"Carl," Rick managed to rasp, spurred by his son's terrified voice. Reaching out to grasp the boy's shaking hand clumsily in one of his own, Rick finally managed to draw a little steadier breath. In the pitch black of their temporary safe-haven it was impossible to see more than the faintest of outlines of his companions, but sound seemed amplified. Carl's breathing was heavy and he kept shifting his weight, scraping denim and tennis shoes against the cement floor.

 

"Don't try to move just yet." Michonne's steps had been light enough on the stairs that Rick had missed her coming down. It wasn't until she was kneeling on his other side that it became obvious how close she was. She sounded solemn. More serious than she had been since she'd found them in that white two story just a few short days ago. "We don't know if you've really hurt yourself this time. Just take steady, slow breaths and wait until you're sure you can move before trying anything. We're safe enough in here for now."

 

For several long moments the only sound in the enclosed area was Rick's harsh, rattling breath. The growls and tenacious scratching and body-slamming of the Walkers outside could still faintly be heard, but it was hard when his own breathing was so damn noisy and loud. Eventually, however, Rick's lungs began to slow their frantic rhythm. He kept his breaths a bit shallow, but the others hardly seemed to notice. After a few minutes of the quiet, Carl's voice murmured into the dark, "Dad? How bad is it?"

 

"I think I'm fine," Rick rasped after taking a moment to assess himself. He hurt all over, but nothing screamed _wrong_ like a truly broken bone or any other severe damage probably would have. "Just a helluva lot more sore than I was a few minutes ago."

 

"I'm going to get an idea of where we are and what's available to us," Michonne said seeming satisfied with his answer. "Just stay here you two, and I'll be back in a few minutes."

 

The crackle of grit grinding under her shoes as Michonne got to her feet and moved off was loud in the dark. Finally able to breathe again, Rick slowly dropped his head back onto the concrete and let out a shaky, painful sigh. He could feel warm wetness trickling down the side of his head, and he was damn near certain he'd reopened the gunshot wound in his thigh. Hell, he'd probably even picked up a few new bruises and scrapes.

 

Carl's hand tightened in Rick's for a moment, and Rick turned his head to eye his son's barely there silhouette. After a moment, Rick squeezed back, and the pressure of Carl's hand around his fingers eased. They sat in silence for a long time. Rick listened in a half-daze to the shuffle and scuff of Michonne's shoes on the gritty, dirty floor. Eventually, both he and Carl were startled back into full alertness when Michonne found a door to push open. When things went quiet again after she had closed the door, Rick gently removed his hand from Carl's and began to ease himself from the uncomfortable steps onto the level floor. A particularly loud bang – one that put Rick into the mental image of one of the Walkers trying to use its head to try and bash through the door – made he and Carl both jump.

 

"We need t' get outta the city now," Rick wheezed. Carl slowly lowered himself to sit beside him.

 

"But how?" Carl asked voice low and exhausted.

 

"I don't know," Rick murmured back after a while. "We've kicked the hornet's nest."

 

The soft creak and whine of Michonne coming back through the door she had found brought both of their attentions to her return. There was a faint click and then the stairwell was bathed in a weak, pale, almost blue light. Michonne smiled at them from behind the battery powered lantern. "There's flashlights down here. I say we lay low here for a few hours and hope the herd loses interest. We can move on in a bit. Let's get you looked at first."

 

There was no argument with any of that as far as Rick was concerned. With Carl's help, Rick made it back to his feet. This time, however, as he moved slowly toward the door Michonne was holding open, he found he couldn't even stand up straight. It was going to be difficult to get out of the city, but they had to. The sooner, the better. There was no food, no safe way to conduct runs for supplies…they were in a very bad situation with things only likely to get worse and worse the longer they remained.

 

Carl helped him to a chair that was more of a stool with a back to it that was shoved close to a work bench. Rick used the edge of the bench as support while he eased himself onto the seat. It took effort, but eventually he got the once-white T-shirt off and dropped it on the bench top. Michonne settled the lantern close to the shirt and then turned her attention to Rick.

 

"You're a mess," she murmured after running her hands gently over most of his torso. She'd pressed in a few times, eliciting a couple hisses and a curse or two from him. Drawing away, Michonne started searching through the drawers of the bench and the cabinets above and below it. Eventually she produced a depleted First Aid kit. Really, the only thing of use inside it was a pale, used ace bandage. Rick lifted his arms and let her wrap him up without more than a few winces. At least she'd been gentle.

 

Carl came back up to them by the time she was finished. Rick hadn't even noticed that the boy had grabbed one of the flashlights Michonne had mentioned and wandered off. He was without a doubt in desperate need of some rest, losing track of his _son_ like that. "There's no food down here at all," he informed them.

 

Rick pressed a hand over the most painful, newly bandaged spot on his ribs and nodded. "We'll be leavin' in a bit."

 

"There's another doorway that leads into the stairwell for the other side of the building," Carl said in response. "Maybe we should go that way?"

 

Rick glanced over to Michonne who chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip for just a second before lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I can check it out. It's got to be better than trying to get past the herd at the door we came through."

 

"Thank you," Rick found himself grunting as he gingerly slid to his feet. "Be careful."

 

Michonne grinned at him. "Aren't I always?"

 

Then she was gone, leaving Rick and Carl alone together again. Carl looked him up and down for a moment and then sighed. "Do you think you can really make it out of the city like this?"

 

"I'll be fine." Rick slowly looked around, taking note of the narrow aisle that separated several rows of chain-link enclosed storage units. He had just started to make his way slowly to the nearest storage cage, curious to see if they could find anything of use, when Carl hurried around to stand in from of him.

 

"Dad. You can't hardly stand." Carl's face was serious beneath the shadow of his hat brim.

 

Rick pursed his lips. "Carl, we don't have a choice. We'll be gettin' ourselves outta this city _today_. We _can't_ stay here. Not for any length o' time."

 

"But dad-"

 

Michonne's reappearance put an immediate end to the start of what could have been an intense debate. Rick turned his attention to her as soon as she was near, but by no means missed the unhappy glare that Carl was sending his way. He felt terrible dismissing his son in such an abrupt way, but there really was no room for argument on this. They had to leave. The people of Terminus knew they were here now and the sooner they weren't here anymore the better.

 

"What did ya find?" he asked.

 

"It opens into a mirror image of the stairwell we came in from. At this point, all of the Walkers have moved around to the other side of the building. Means that way is as clear as it's ever going to get."

 

Rick chewed his lower lip for a second in thought before he tossed a week hand in the direction of the storage cages. "Let's pick through some o' these, see if there's anythang useful. We'll leave in a bit."

 

"Dad, sit down. Michonne and I can go through the stuff," Carl nearly begged. Rick cast a look in the boy's direction and felt his heart squeeze. He could see so much of Lori in Carl's face it hurt to look at his son sometimes. This was very near the same look Lori used to give him back before she had blessed him with Carl. A look that said he was working too many night shifts, and she was worried. It was a look of pure stubbornness tempered with a strength that could weather some of the worst things life could throw at them. Carl had proven himself to be stronger than Rick gave him credit for most of the time. Something Rick constantly neglected to remember when he was worrying about his son's safety and the role he played in protecting his boy. After a moment of studying that all too achingly familiar expression, Rick laid a gentle hand on Carl's shoulder and nodded. "Okay." Taking as deep of a breath as he could, he squeezed the muscle under his hand and murmured a second, more conceding, "Okay."

 

Carl insisted on helping him back to the stool-chair. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable place to sit, but it was likely the only place he could sit and still make it to his feet with any sort of speed should the need arise. He watched or listened as Michonne and Carl moved about, busting cage doors and rifling through the former tenants' belongings. In the end, they came up with next to nothing that was useful. Old furniture and kitchen appliances were useless to them. None of the clothes stored were meant for anyone over the age of seven.

 

Disheartened, Carl and Michonne joined him by the bench, and the three of them stood together in silence. Rick would always see that moment as fortuitous. If Carl and Michonne had still been rummaging, they probably wouldn't have heard the bang of the door they'd come through slamming open over their own noise. Without hesitation, they hurried to the opposite stairwell, Rick's arm slung heavily over his son's shoulders.

 

 

 

TBC…


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Sorry this update has taken so very long to get to you guys. It's just been ridiculously busy and I've been rather uninspired lately. But today I came back from comic con with the urge to WRITE and so write I have.

It was no small blessing that the alley they stepped into from the second stairwell was empty. Resuming their pattern from the day before, Rick braced himself on the wall of the building as much as he could and pushed himself to keep moving forward. He hurt everywhere and the intensity of that discomfort seemed to increase two-fold with every step. Gritting his teeth, Rick pushed as much of his pain from his thoughts as he could and focused more on figuring out how to get the three of them out of the city alive.

 

They were just rounding another corner when Carl's hand grabbed Rick's wrist hard. In turn Rick reached out, catching Michonne by her shirt's back. Frozen, Rick turned his attention to his son while Michonne scanned the entire area with intense focus.

 

"I heard voices," Carl whispered though his eyes never turned toward Rick. Rick's own gaze darted out, searching the area around them for a long moment.

 

"Where from?" he rasped back, hoping that Carl would be able to pin point a general direction at the very least. Carl pointed before turning and motioning them to move on. Rick glanced in the direction that Carl had pointed first. He didn't see anything. Of course, that didn't mean there wasn't anything there. Pressing three fingers into the small of Michonne's back urged the swordswoman forward.

 

Michonne got them around another three more corners before Carl stopped them again. This time, Michonne stood stock still and listened intently. Rick was amazed by how still she managed to stay. It was almost like she'd been turned into a statue. Once again, Rick was grateful that they had her with them. Rick could hardly hear over the rattle of his own breath, and Carl alone couldn't be responsible for being lookout. It wasn't that Carl couldn't so much as it was unfair to place such a burden on him even after everything. Rick was responsible for Carl's life, _not_ the other way around. After a moment Michonne loosened back up and huddled in close to them. "I hear them too. We need to find a place to hide."

 

Rick nodded. "Let's keep movin'. We'll find a place."

 

With those words, they fell back into step. It seemed like an eternity of torture. Michonne ended up dispatching ten Walkers in total before they finally made it to the fence they'd passed through on their way into the city. Rick wrapped his fingers into the diamond pattern of the chain-link and leaned heavily on it, peering down the small hill and out at the empty tracks. They could follow the fence line now, keep the fence to their one side and make their way back to the downed panels. They'd be ambling back up the tracks and far away from Terminus in no time.

 

The scuff of shoes on pavement behind them jerked the trio's attention back the way they'd come. Rounding the corner they'd taken to get onto the street that had led them to the fence were several Walkers, and behind them came several more. Quickly, Rick released the fence and turned, staggering along the fence. Michonne took point with her sword once again drawn, and Carl fell right back into step as they bustled along the blockade. It wasn't far down the fence before they found a crumpled gate that opened onto a paved drive. The drive lead away from the city and down to a garage door that was still open by about four feet. It wouldn't be hard for even Rick, stiff and injured as he was, to slide under and get inside. Of course, they knew the Walkers wouldn't have trouble following them under the door, but it would slow them enough for the three of them to regroup. They might even be lucky enough to have moved quick enough to lose the Walkers that had yet to round that last corner before the fence.

 

The building itself was long, stretching a seemingly forever in the direction they needed to go. Michonne seemed to be thinking the same way as Rick because she was already taking them down the paved drive and ducking under the door. Better the most able of them take on the unknown, he acknowledged, wincing as he hunkered under the door. It stung his fatherly pride that Carl stood watch over him while he contorted into a compromised hunched, but as he'd told himself a million times already, it was necessary. Carl came through and the three of them looked quietly around.

 

Sunlight filtered in from near the ceiling windows, casting the garage in hazy twilight. It was definitely a place where mechanics and maintenance folk applied their craft. Box car and train parts, car parts and silent, lifeless machines were strewn all over the open floor.  On the far side, several rows of tracks ran through. Michonne glanced back at him once and Rick gave her the go ahead nod. Together the trio moved along the wall, three pairs of eyes darting about and searching the shadows around them. So far, all was quiet.

 

Long minutes ticked by, minutes in which they moved cautiously toward the other end of the building. They passed entrance after entrance – some partially open and others firmly shut – on their way, and it gave them strong hopes for an easy out at the far end. The bang of Walkers running into the door they'd ducked under echoed loudly, the noise creating a surge of flight response to course through Rick's veins. The adrenaline tingled his skin all over, a blessing to a man in as much pain as Rick. He grit his teeth and pressed on as they were. It wouldn't be long before the Walkers started to figure out how to get under the door. They had to get out _now_.

 

As they moved, it became obvious that the train garage, like the rest of the city, had been built conforming to the earth it stood on. As they moved along, the ceiling and floor began to angle down. Eventually, it became obvious that they had nearly reached the other end of the building, the train entrance half open before them. It took very little effort for them to duck under the giant rolling door. Rick had never been so thankful to see familiar territory in his life as when he laid eyes on the boxcar they'd spent the night in.

 

"It's nearly dusk," Michonne stated as Rick and Carl drew even with her.

 

_True enough_ , Rick thought, glancing up at the darkening sky. He hunched his shoulders and wrapped his arm around his middle. "We'll stay in the boxcar one more night. Move out in the mornin'."

 

"I'm hungry," Carl lamented.

 

Rick sighed. It was a ways to the boxcar yet, but he was quickly running out of steam as the relief washed away the adrenaline that had kept him going. Before he could say a thing, however, Michonne spoke up.

 

"Sorry, kiddo," she murmured. "I'm hungry too, but  the city's too stirred up for anyone to make a run for anything."

 

Several long moments of silence followed the declaration. Rick focused on moving his feet one after the other until he couldn't stand the ringing in his ears any more.

 

"We'll find somethang t' eat tomorrow," Rick promised. They would have to.

 

"I hope so," Carl acknowledged and then moved ahead of Rick and Michonne. He had the boxcar open by the time they made it to his side.

 

Rick realized then just how out of it he really was if it was only just occurring to him that Michonne had only paced him to play guard dog. Carl and Michonne helped to ease him up and into the boxcar. With a low groan, he managed to pull himself by his forearms – with some stiff wriggling that would have been embarrassing if he wasn't too damn exhausted to feel it – until he was much further into the dark belly of the only safe haven they'd found in the past week. Only once Carl and Michonne were inside and the door was closed did Rick finally lay completely back onto the floor. His breaths were coming in short, sharp pants.

 

Carl came and settled on his knees at Rick's side. A light hand landed in the middle of Rick's chest, his son finding him by touch and sound in the near black of the enclosed space.

 

"Dad?"

 

"I'm okay, Carl," Rick murmured, breathless with exertion and pain. "We're okay."

 

His arm felt like a lead weight as he reached up. Limp fingers brushed along Carl's shoulder before curling weakly over the back of his son's neck. Carl's neck muscles stretched under Rick's calloused hand as the boy lowered his chin. It was the last sensation Rick remembered from that night.

 

 

 

TBC…


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: So. This is the chapter where my two companion fics merge. Hopefully I can do NGUNS justice by keeping NATY strong from Rick's PoV and not much deviation from "known" events.

It wasn't until his whole body was shaking with Carl's insistent shoves to his shoulder that Rick reclaimed something even close to consciousness. Carl was hissing "Dad!" through his teeth over and over, and it was something in that sound that had Rick coming back to himself completely with a grunt of "Wha?"

 

And as soon as that consciousness settled back in so did the agony. Rick gasped and stiffened, curling in tight on himself as the pain of everything that made him a living being flared. Carl's hands jerked back. "Sorry!"

 

"What's wrong?" Rick managed to ask. He was barely able to breathe, but urgency forced the words past clenched teeth.

 

"The Walkers," Carl murmured. "They followed us. They're not as far as this boxcar yet, but they will be soon. We need to go."

 

"Now," Michonne added from the dark somewhere behind him. "They're agitated so something must've stirred them up.

 

"Yeah," Rick huffed and pushed himself up to his knees and one elbow, lopsided and agonized by his stiff muscles, joints and ribs. "Us. Let's go."

 

It was a chore to get out of the boxcar, but with great caution, patience and a break or two so that Rick could catch his breath, the three of them eventually found themselves moving along the side of their hideaway heading toward the back. Michonne peered around the corner and then jerked back. Immediately she crouched low and leaned in close.

 

"We are lucky, lucky, so lucky," she mumbled closing her eyes in a display of nerves that Rick rarely saw on her normally stoic face. "There's a Walker right at the front of the boxcar now."

 

"That's close," Carl said in a voice made soft with necessity and nerves. "We'll never make it away from them. They'll see us, an' Dad can't run."

 

"We're outta options," Rick murmured after a heartbeat of silence. Michonne peered around the boxcar's corner again, Rick letting his eyes search her body language before he looked to Carl and leaned his shoulder into the boxcar so that he could lift the arm not snugged around his middle. "I'll need your support, but we're gonna have t' run."

 

Carl didn't even hesitate to move under his father's shoulder. His boy caught Rick's wrist in a firm grip and Carl's lips thinned with determination. Rick felt his chest tighten. Carl was so brave, so determined to survive, so very much his strong mother's son.

 

"Rick, you can hardly stand," Michonne muttered. He'd never know if there was more that she would have said to him on the matter because there was a sudden explosion of sound in the quiet of the day. The clatter and scrabble of gravel being flung snapped the attention of each of them to the dog running hard in their direction. For one horrified moment, Rick imagined the dog would attack and hurt any one of them, bringing the herd that ambled only a few yards away down on them. Instead, to Rick's relief, the dog veered away, some of the gravel from the dog's flying paws flinging far enough to plunk against Rick's bent legs. In that moment, his horror switched from concern over his group to concern for the dog.

 

Logically, he knew that the dog was the least important entity in that moment, but he'd always had a soft spot for animals. It was only Lori's insistence that a dog would be too much work and too much of an expense that had kept the Grimes' family's from expanding to include some kind of canine companion. Michonne's hand suddenly gripped his shoulder so hard it made Rick wince, pulling him from his thoughts of regret at knowing that the dog barking its head off just out of sight was doomed.

 

"Rick," she hissed, and Rick's automatic response was to look up even as he tried to shrug out of her talon-like grip. Wasn't he in enough pain without Michonne clawing into his bruised shoulder? Then his eyes caught movement beyond Michonne, and it was as if the world had slowed around him everything from his vision to his hearing fuzzing out around the edges. Carl's hoarse whisper of _that_ name barely registered as a voice that wasn't the one in his own mind already chanting _that_ name like a mantra of salvation.

 

Three horses were thundering down the hill they'd climbed just two days ago. It would have been impossible not to recognize the faces of Daryl and Maggie as they rushed toward them. Daryl gave his mount an extra hard kick and the blue and black beast beneath him surged forward, passing Maggie and the other man's horses. Before Rick could blink, Carl was pushing himself to his feet and forcing Rick to try and rise with him. Michonne's hand left his shoulder and grabbed under Rick's bicep instead, helping Carl haul him up and move him forward to meet Daryl as the hunter pulled his horse into a sudden, sliding stop. Gravel flew everywhere, but Rick couldn't be bothered to worry about the rocks plinking off the boxcar and his own legs.

 

Daryl leaned forward, reaching toward him with the single most serious expression Rick had seen on his face yet. Rick felt his own mouth pulling wide in a ridiculous, relieved grin.

 

"Need a lift, Officer?"

 

"Daryl, you crazy sonuva bitch," Rick gasped through gritted teeth as he pulled his arm off Carl's shoulders and slowly reached up to grip Daryl's forearm. Warmth flooded him the second his skin found purchase on Daryl's soft-skinned forearm. Daryl grinned in return and gripped Rick's own forearm hard his hold firm as he pulled Rick up. It stretched his aching ribs, but with Michonne and Carl's help, Rick made it up behind Daryl's saddle with a groan. Unable to let go of his own middle, Rick wrapped his other arm tight around Daryl's waist. The sudden clench of tightly clamped fingers around his wrist nearly choked him on his own surging emotions. Daryl seemed as desperate for contact as he was. Rick prayed that that wasn't just wishful thinking.

 

Daryl looked over his shoulder. "Don't fuckin' let go cuz we're about t' haul ass outta here."

 

"Yeah," Rick whispered voice hoarse with emotion and pressed his forehead into the back of Daryl's neck, tightening his arm around Daryl's middle. The scent of sweat and wilderness filled Rick's nose, accompanied by the sharp odor of unwashed man. Rick vaguely remembered a time when such scents were repulsive. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to bury his nose against Daryl's slick, filthy skin and breathe him in for hours.

 

Things happened fast after that. Daryl barked some orders to Michonne and Carl, but Rick's head was swimming with relief and fatigue so he couldn't quite make out anything beyond the vibrations of Daryl's voice in the body beneath Rick's forehead. There was a momentary pause before Daryl's voice rumbled with the sharp words, "Let's get the fuck outta here!"

 

 A piercing whistle snapped him out of the half-daze he had been sinking into and Rick's breath caught when Daryl pressed Rick's hand into his stomach, silently letting him know that they were about to move and then they were racing down the tracks. Soft flesh and solid muscle gave and flexed in turn beneath Rick's flat pressed palm. Gunshots echoed around them for just a moment, but Rick just kept his face pressed to the middle of Daryl's back, focused on the movement of living flesh beneath his shaking hand and held on. Every stride and every roll of the horse's ass beneath his own jarred him. It hurt. Dear lord did it hurt, but Rick held on tight and kept his cursing to as much of a minimum as he could manage.

 

After several moments, Rick's instincts kicked in beneath the pain and sent his eyes darting to the side. He was relieved to find Carl clinging tight to the stranger's waist, burying his face in the man's back with one hand holding his hat on his head. Satisfied that his son was safe, he raised his head and resettled his other cheek against Daryl's muscled shoulder. Michonne hugged tight to Maggie, and both hunched low over the horse's back. Daryl let out a whooping holler, an echo of the intense relief consuming Rick's very being. Rick didn't even need to look back to know that they were leaving the Walkers far behind them. Maggie and Michonne started to giggle and even Carl let out a whoop of his own.

 

Rick cursed again when the horse stumbled a bit over the wood of the tracks. The muscles of Daryl's back where Rick's cheek was pressed flexed as Daryl looked over his shoulder and shouted, "Stop bein' such a pussy!"

 

Overwhelmed with relief nearly to the point of tears, Rick pinched Daryl's stomach _hard_ in retaliation, but said nothing. His breath was too short for him to form coherent words loud enough to be heard over the pounding of the horses' hooves and the wind whipping by. He knew he really didn't have to anyway because he was certain that Daryl could feel his grin when Rick shifted and pressed his cheek against the back of his neck, holding on even tighter than before.

 

 

TBC…


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Okay, sorry this is taking so long to get done but life has been crazy busy, plus I'm co-authoring a Rickyl fic with the lovely snazzelle. But I promise this series has not been forgotten. I'm going to get chapters completed and up as frequently as I possibly can given that it's now summertime on the farm and that my work hours have picked up significantly plus my other authoring responsibilities. I love you all and thank you so much for your reviews and support!!

It was a long, painful ride. Rick's side flared hard in agony with every pounding step the horse beneath him took and those steps were  _many_ given the pace they were keeping. Eventually, however, the stranger whistled long and low, and the horses started to slow. Slowly, Rick lifted his head and watched as Carl released the stranger to allow him to dismount. Apparently the dog that had startled them belonged to him. Rick was relieved to see that the dog was fine, grateful to the animal for the diversion it had provided, allowing for the rescue of Carl, Michonne and himself.

 

Turning his eyes back to Daryl, Rick studied the man's profile for a moment, seeing the worry in the furrow of Daryl's brow slowly ease as he also concluded that the dog was okay. Rick shifted a little, trying to ease the stiffness in his whole body. He knew he sounded ragged and rough when he murmured a playful yet relieved, "Looks like you've done well for yourself."

 

Daryl's attention darted to Rick out of the corner of his eye and Rick did not miss the goose pimples raising on Daryl's arms and the back of his neck. So, maybe Rick had spoken close enough that some might find it intimate. It wasn't like he could really lean away from Daryl's body, restricted as he was by his own body's pain. Deciding to go for broke, Rick steeled himself for whatever the answer would be, and asked. "Have you found any o' the others?"

 

Twisting a little further, Daryl managed to meet Rick's gaze over his shoulder. Rick tried to lean back to give the man room, but his body shuddered a little with the effort and he stopped barely a couple inches into the motion. After a second, Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Sasha, Bob an' Maggie kinda found me, Beth an' Jason, that's the cowboy over there. Tyreese made it til he didn't, but he went out like a hero, savin' Lizzie and Mika. Carol an' Lil Asskicker are with them."

 

Judith was alive. Rick felt the bottom dropped out of his stomach and his already light head seemed to fuzz and get even airier. _Judith was alive_.

 

"Judith," Rick choked out and felt his whole face crumpling with the intensity of his emotions. His heart was constricted and his chest felt tight, his throat closing off as he fought for control of his wayward feelings. Judith was alive! He couldn't hardly believe it. It was just so improbable!

 

Daryl jerked in front of him as though struck and all but tossed himself off the horse and onto the ground. Rick felt his absence twofold as the man's residual warmth left and as that sudden lack of support sent Rick tipping. Rick found he was unable to right himself, too lost in the deep emotions of relief and newfound anxiety. He didn't get to tip very far before strong, calloused hands were grabbing at him, practically lifting him from the horse's back. Daryl was there the whole time, easing him to the ground with a murmured, "I've gotcha, brother. Easy."

 

Daryl seemed content to kneel down beside him and the other man's fingers were blessedly tight on the back of Rick's arms. The pressure of those fingers was grounding enough that Rick heard Carl call him just a second before the sound of mismatched tennis shoes hitting gravel reached his ears.

 

"What's wrong?" Carl panted as his shadow fell over them. It was just beyond Rick's wildest dreams, beyond all of his expectations after all that he had been through that he would still have any luck left with which to get his daughter back. The relief brought out a painfully huge grin to his face and he found that the consolation of the knowledge that he would hold his little girl again was easing his throat open again, pushing a few small, nearly manic chuckles and a torrent of tears past the initial shock. Still dazed with exhaustion and overwhelmed by emotion, Rick reached for Daryl, needing to ground himself further before he lost it entirely all over again. Blinded by his tears, his fingers made clumsy by the events of the last week, it took Rick a moment to find purchase in the fabric of Daryl's shirt. The man pulled Rick in tight to his body in a snug embrace without an ounce of hesitation. Daryl's rough voice rumbled deep in his chest beneath Rick's ear as Daryl explained to Carl, "Judith. She's waitin' for you guys back where we've got everyone holed up."

 

" _Judith_ ," Carl repeated in disbelief bordering on exuberance. "She's _alive_?"

 

Rick felt a fresh surge of jumbled emotions, but Daryl's next words, stopped everything for just a split second as the hunter half-snarled, " What _is_ it wit' you people? _Course_ she's _alive_. She's a god damned _Grimes_."

 

He sounded so damn serious, but Rick just _knew_ , somehow without a doubt, that Daryl was trying for levity in what he felt to be undeniable truth. Unable to stop himself, despite all the pain, the downright agony in his side and the fists of both fear and relief clenched around his heart, Rick started to laugh. It was raspy, each laugh cut short by a gasp as his ribs were jostled uncontrollably, but it was the first genuine laugh he'd shared with loved ones in far, far too long. It was music to his ears to hear Carl join in, guffawing like a hyena before throwing his arms around both Rick and Daryl in a loose, limp-limbed hug. Daryl shifted a little and Rick reached out, wrapping his other arm around the hunter as well. It would kill him, if Daryl pulled away in that moment and Rick felt the relief and humor leave him in a rush. Burying his face against the sweaty side of Daryl's neck, breathing deeply of that strongly male musk, Rick just let go, crying in soft, hiccupping and unfortunately painful sobs.

 

Daryl only seemed to hesitate for a moment before he tightened his hold. Rick even felt him shift around enough to wrap an arm around Carl too, who, in light of his father crying seemed compelled to do so himself. But it was the dampness seeping into his shirt collar that surprised him the most. Apparently, Daryl was equally moved by their reunion. Rick clenched shaking fingers in the back of Daryl's shirt and held on just a little bit tighter, vowing silently that he'd never tell anyone about those silent tears dripping onto his collar bone. Not even if his life depended on it.

 

So, there they sat in the middle of the railroad tracks, Rick and Carl openly crying themselves out while Daryl let slip silent tears of joy into Rick's shirt. After several long moments, Carl finally shifted and pulled away, sniffing and rubbing at his eyes. Rick made no move to stop Carl's extraction of himself from their huddle.

 

"I'm glad you're one of ours, Daryl," Carl said, his voice a little smaller than it ever normally was. "Because if you were one of Theirs…we wouldn't stand a chance."

 

Daryl tensed in Rick's embrace. Rick didn't even have to look up to know that the redneck was struggling with how to respond to such a statement of confidence in Daryl's integral position in their family. Taking pity on the awkward man, Rick in a voice made hoarse with laughter and tears added, "What Carl's tryin' t' say is: we can't thank you enough for… _everythang_ you've done for us. If it weren't for you…"

 

Even the thought of being without Daryl, having _been_ without Daryl choked him up, closing his throat tight against the words he never really wanted to think let alone speak anyway. Unable to resist, Rick tightened his grip on Daryl's body, his breaths coming in overwhelmed huffs that sent spikes of pain through his bruised and battered sides. After a moment, Rick felt Daryl's arms tighten around him and the other man tucked his head in against the side of Rick's, murmuring, "Nah, man. You'da done the same damn thing if ya hadn'a got the shit beat outta ya. And Carl… but he had t' look after yer laid up ass. Besides, it's like I told ya before. No reason you have t' do alla the heavy liftin'."

 

Rick found himself floored by the emotion weighing down Daryl's voice. He was so lost in reveling in the nearness of _Daryl_ that he was startled by a stranger's voice breaking through his happy haze. Jason was clearly addressing Rick, bringing the battered man back out of his own head with a gentle prompting of, "Let's get you looked at. Then get you back to your little girl."

 

The mention of Judith brought Rick's head up slowly from Daryl's shoulder. The other man retreated just a little and allowed Rick to look over and up to the tall young man. Seeing nothing in the other's face that spoke of ill intent, Rick nodded, but when he made to shift around onto his ass, he was stopped by Daryl's still intense hold on him. It was as if the other man had just locked up and when Rick glanced over into the profile of that scruffy, weary face, Rick leaned back in close and murmured softly into Daryl's ear, "Daryl. I could use a little help."

 

Daryl's attention came back to him immediately as he began to speak and it seemed that Rick's words gave Daryl whatever reassurance he needed to move past whatever had frozen him in the first place. He gave Rick the smallest of nods and then proceeded to help Rick shift around into a sitting position, aiding Rick in easing his legs out in front of him and looping an arm around Rick's back to support him so that there was no more strain on Rick's body than there had to be. Not for the first time, Rick thanked his lucky stars that Daryl Dixon had found sanctuary with the same survivor camp as his wife and son those few years ago.

 

Jason was already kneeling in front of him and before Rick could thank Daryl for his assistance, the young man offered his hand. Rick took it and gave the kid a good firm handshake. He might be a mess, but he wanted this kid to know that he was far from being completely helpless. If the look in Jason's eyes was anything to go by, the display was unnecessary.

 

"It's a pleasure t' finally meet you, Mr. Grimes."

 

"The pleasure's mine," Rick said. "And it's jus' Rick. Thank you… for lookin' after my people."

 

"They've done as much for me as I have for them. Been alone for a while, or, well, without other people at least. It's been…rejuvenatin' t' my spirit." Jason smirked, and Rick smiled a little with an understanding nod. "Let's get your shirt off so I can take a look at ya. Anythin' other than your ribs botherin' you?"

 

"I was shot. In the leg. It's pretty sore," Rick answered and hissed as he rolled his shoulders to get out of the jacket pained by the simple actions and even with Daryl right there helping him it was slow going to get Rick's arms out of the sleeves. Carl was hovering over Jason's shoulder, obviously anxious, but somehow managing not to fidget. He was focused on Rick, but something nabbed his attention in the blink of an eye and the boy's eyes flew up to stare over Rick's head. After a minute, Carl smiled and dipped his chin a little. It was just such an adult gesture, one he and Daryl had shared a million times if they'd shared it once. There was the sensation of movement just to his left and behind him and Rick was given the distinct impression that Daryl was returning the nod. It made his heart swell heavily in his chest to witness such an interaction between his boy and the man he…was in love with.

 

' _I'm cool with it… You being in love with Daryl, I mean. I think he loves you too. It's just repressed under all that hillbilly prejudice._ ' Carl's words from so many nights ago drifted back through his mind. When the jacket was finally gone from his body, Rick reached on autopilot for the hem of his shirt, but Daryl's hands were already there. The warm brush of dry, calloused fingers against the soft flesh of his sides and belly caused his heartrate to kick up a notch, but it was the nearness of Daryl moving in behind him that brought his already labored breathing to something closer to panting. None of these things were helping him to banish the thoughts Carl's ghost words had brought into his mind.

 

"Put 'em up," Daryl ordered his voice soft and right behind Rick's ear. That wasn't helping either. It was damn good thing he was too god damned tired to get it up, or he might have had more problems than a few bruises and some cracked ribs. At least, if Carl was wrong after all and Daryl wasn't interested in more than a partnership of camaraderie with Rick.

 

Rick slowly raised his arms enough for Daryl to gently tug the shirt up and off. He heard the shirt get tossed neatly onto the jacket then Daryl was placing his hands lightly on Rick's shoulders for support as Jason swooped in. The young newcomer started gently prodding Rick's torso all around and even over the make-do bandage around his chest, causing Rick to occasionally hiss or wince. After a long moment of silence, Jason turned to the first aid kit and pulled out the scissors.

 

"I know bindin' injured ribs was the thing t' do for the longest time, but when I went through survival trainin' they were adamant – well, they were adamant about a lot o' things – but I remember they told me that it was better t' leave them unbound an' t' jus' try an' take it easy. Bindin'em restricts your ability t' take deep enough breaths an' that can lead t' pneumonia. In this world, that's almost a death sentence."

 

Rick me the younger man's eyes and, upon seeing no mal-intent, slowly nodded. Jason immediately set to work on cutting the bandage from around his chest. Once it was cut, he tossed the cloth aside and added, "You'll need t' force yourself t' breathe deeply t' keep your lungs healthy. If it hurts jus' press the palm o' your hand against the area that's botherin' ya."

 

From there the kid worked in silence, using rubbing alcohol – which stung like a bitch – and gauze pads to wipe all of Rick's cuts and abrasions clean. When he was finished with the rubbing alcohol, he cycled back through the worst of them, smearing a thin coating of triple antibiotic over them and only bandaging the very worst of them. Daryl, who had stayed behind Rick the entire time as support, helped Rick back into his shirt and jacket as Jason set the ointment aside and turned a studious eye to Rick's long legs.

 

"Which leg an' where?" Jason asked obviously looking for blood stains.

 

"Carl helped me bandage that one up," Rick answered, laying a hand lightly over the wound in his thigh. He wanted nothing more than for them to get a move on and his gun shot would would certainly keep long enough for them to get to Judith. "It hurts but it'll keep until we're somewhere safer."

 

Jason nodded and then looked over his shoulder to Michonne and Carl. "You two hurt at all?"

 

The young man seemed satisfied with that and immediately packed everything away. Rick watched in silence as Jason replaced the kit in his horse's saddlebag and rummaged around for just a moment. In the end, he pulled out Ziploc baggies of dried fruits and jerky that had Rick's mouth watering at the sight. It wasn't long before all three of them were tearing into the preserved foods and sipping water from fresh bottles.

 

"We're gonna have t' travel in the dark a bit t' get back t' Sunnydale, but I think we should push on," Jason offered conversationally watching the area around them while Rick, Michonne and Carl all ate their fill.

 

Rick glanced from Jason's profile back to Daryl who was finally settling beside him with outstretched legs. Daryl was leaning back on his hands half behind Rick just close enough that their sides were ever-so-slightly touching. Relieved by the silent support, Rick eased back. Daryl's warmth against Rick's body was comforting after the treatment he had just undergone from the rough ride out to the sharp, repetitive sting of the rubbing alcohol over his injuries. "I agree. The sooner we're somewhere safe, the better."

 

"And the farther away from Terminus," Carl put in, staring down at the piece of jerky in his hand.

 

Rick felt his stomach go icy at the memory of that horrible scene, innocent people about to be gunned down because some crazed man thought it was the best course of action. It made him sick. Slowly Rick turned his attention to Carl. His son met his eyes across the space between them and, in those soft brown depths, he could see an equivalent disgust. Carl would likely never forget the terror of the day before. Of all the things they had witnessed since the Turn, that forest of horror was going to haunt Rick's nightmares for a good long while. Some of the bodies of the dead, looking back and remembering through a haze though he was, had been mutilated by things other than hungry Walkers.

 

A sudden tug at the piece of jerky in his fingers yanked Rick's attention back to the moment. Carl looked away too, going back to his own food as Rick cast glare a mock affronted look and stuffed the remaining bit of the jerky into his mouth. Daryl seemed placated by the reaction and settled back again.

 

When they'd eaten their fill, Michonne and Maggie packed up the leftovers into the proper saddlebags while Jason and Daryl helped Rick get back to his feet. Jason offered Rick some pain killers for which the former deputy was extremely grateful. He downed them with the remainder of his water and leaned heavily on Daryl until everyone else was back on the horses. Daryl helped Rick up onto the horse's rump and then clambered up into the saddle himself. Rick settled both arms around Daryl's slender waist, and despite the fact that they weren't galloping around at breakneck speeds, Daryl grabbed Rick's wrist again anyway. It sent a jolt of electric emotion right up Rick's arm, making his heart pound and his stomach twist in that wonderful way most people stop experience once they're out of their teenage years. Every point of contact was that much more reassurance that Daryl was real. That he was there with Rick again. That they were so much closer to being a whole family again. They just had to find Glenn. Then everything would be okay again.

 

 

 

TBC…


End file.
